First Time
by coincidentally
Summary: The sky and the sea were never fated to touch, but as Winona examines her failed relationship, she realizes there were many first times with him. Gracefulshipping.


Winona sat on the terrace of the Pokémon League building, absentmindedly watching her Altaria soar through the clouds. The monthly League meeting had just been concluded, and everyone dispersed for the night. She was certain Roxanne was subtly flirting with Brawly in her usual, overbearing manner (now there's a paradox), and Wattson was making horrendously bad puns. Steven was probably hitting on Flannery. Norman, being ever the sensible guy, retired for the night, and Juan was lecturing Wallace on the ways of a Don Quixote.

She stilled.

Even though six months have passed since the Groudon and Kyogre incident, memories of him still bring about a painful clenching of her heart. She remembered, though hazily, how his face contorted into a mask of acute anguish when he saw her constricted by Archie's Tentacruel. She touched her neck gingerly, remembering the Pokémon's crushing squeeze that had nearly destroyed her larynx. It was close, so close as she recalled her pleas that he forget her and perform his duties as Champion of the Hoenn region. She never begged and will never do so—she was too proud for that, but she remembered the sensation of her throat itching, raw as she strained against Tentacruel's bonds, imploring that he remember who he was and his obligation to the people of Hoenn.

For him and him only would she surrender and lay down her pride.

She was convinced, beyond a shadow of doubt, that was the one time when he would choose the people of Hoenn over her.

She was oh so horribly wrong.

Winona thought—believed—the world was ending as she witnessed his Pokeballs destroyed by Houndoom's flames. He relinquished his Milotic—beautiful, elegant Milotic whom he treasured more than the riches of the world or the allure of fame.

She hated herself for forcing him to make the harrowing decision of choosing between his Pokemon and her. Because now she knew which one he would choose. Every. Single. Time.

Her.

Through his actions, he displayed his willingness to forsake the entire region for her. The supervisor side of her was disgusted: a Champion abandoning his duties was the utmost disgrace to the title. Yet, deep down, in a corner of her soul that she had never known existed, she couldn't help but feel gratitude for his actions. It was selfish, her rational side argued, but since when did reasoning of the brain apply to the matters of the heart?

Winona stopped. This was a dangerous territory she was treading because it contained so many memories she had locked up years ago when their relationship began to fall apart. It held so many buried secrets and desires that one misstep could trigger an entire avalanche of feelings that would sweep her away.

But the very forbidden nature held a seductive appeal, and only when she looked back did she realize it was too late. She was now mired in the jumbled emotions, and she could feel herself drowning, drowning in this torrent of emotion, flashbacks, and memories, and everything and everything splintered and shattered and spiraled down into this atrocious cycle that kept devolving and devolving and devolving and it just Would. Not. Stop.

She could feel her throat tightening and her eyes watering as she recounted the flitting memories ranging from happiness, joy, anger, despair, to regret. Regret. REGRET.

She recalled the day when she suggested the breakup. It was raining, drops of rain hitting his face, and coupled with his tormented face, created the image that he was crying. Looking back now, she wasn't entirely sure that that it was only rain that had been on his face. She remembered his desperate voice beseeching her to stay, that they could work something out, that they could find a way to make it all work. She remembered pressing her lips against his wet face one last time in a final farewell, giving one last bow and a word of thanks before she mounted her Altaria and flew off.

She didn't even look back.

Winona vaguely remembered the events that followed, but they paled in comparison to the haunting image of his face, framed by the rain as he stood there, struck by her words. His eyes, despondent, as they searched her for anything—anything—that would cause her change her mind, that would make her stay. The glittering teal, tinged with immeasurable grief, still haunted her. For the months that followed, she flung herself into her work, training until she was worn at the bones. She welcomed the pain and fatigue over the memories, burying them deep within her mind in a desperate attempt to forget. To forget everything about him, that was the only way she could heal.

Was it her cowardliness that caused the relationship to die? Probably.

She knew, even though she fervently denied, that she would never measure up to his standards. Although he constantly reassured her that he liked her the way she was, she felt the underlying tension. Whenever she tried to chase him, he slipped right between her fingers like water, powerful and fluid.

The press was not kind to her. From the moment their relationship became public, reporters and news outlets constantly measured her skills against his, deeming that she wasn't good enough, that she wasn't _compatible_ (the euphemism is disgusting, she believes) with someone as skilled as him. At first, she tried to ignore the opinions of others, reassuring herself that it was her life and she was free to pursue anything she wanted. The sky was the limit, after all.

She soon found out that she wasn't as free as she thought she was, and she was fettered by the judgment of others. Insecurities began to plague her, and she spent days in a futile attempt to convince herself that she was worthy of him. Eventually, she succumbed to the opinions of others and became bitter and irritable.

That was when their relationship started to crack.

Shouting matches began, and she would fling accusations of faithlessness and condescension against him. Though he tried to be patient with her, his forbearance soon snapped, and he too would be shouting. The situation quickly devolved and there would be a patchy reconciliation, only for the fragile peace to be broken a few days later. The cycle would then continue, and after some time, Winona felt so tired, so _drained_ by these pointless arguments that she decided to surrender.

At the time, it wasn't worth all the pain, all the grief, all the scrutiny imposed by others and by herself. She just could not make the relationship work because no matter how hard she tried, he would always be one step ahead. The relationship consisted of her viewing his back growing smaller in the distance, and she was so jaded that she convinced herself that the relationship wasn't worth saving.

And for the first time in her life, Winona gave up.

She had assumed that future occurrences would become less awkward and that the tension would eventually dissipate with time. She was partially correct. Meetings with him did not become easier, but as the supervisor of the gym leaders, she was able to don a professional persona that was nearly devoid of any personal feelings.

Thankfully, he too did not allow his personal sentiments color his behavior towards her. He was always polite and courteous, but there was always an undercurrent of intensity directed towards her. It was always covered with a professional air, but she could feel it permeate through the air, and it left her breathless.

She knew he still wanted to repair the tattered remains of their relationship—there was always a look of yearning in his clear, teal eyes. She saw it, but chose to ignore it for the greater good. With her new position, Winona could not afford to be tangled by complex emotions; she needed to be rational and straightforward.

Besides, she reasoned, she had given her heart to someone once, only for it to be returned in shards. She wasn't going to risk the same mistake by giving it to the same person, no less (oh, the irony).

But there was a small part of her that contemplated the implausible possibility of mending their relationship. Perhaps this time, she would not make the same mistakes. It has been four years, she mused, and in that span, she has learned to stand a little taller and to stand a little firmer. Perhaps she would not be trapped by the judgment of others and by her own insecurities. Perhaps she would accept him for who he is instead of seeing the image others had created for him.

Perhaps. . .

She quickly shut herself down. There was no future with him; it had died the day she left him in the pouring rain. She had chosen to cut off that string herself. There was no room for regret, and she should look to the path in front of her instead of wallowing in the past.

She had wrought this upon herself, and she must live with her decisions.

Yet, she allowed herself one glimpse, one moment, to reminisce about the past, and in examining her failed relationship, she realized that though there were many first times with him, they were also her last times.


End file.
